Author's Note: Seeing that I've taken so long to update this chapter, I've decided to just include it in the fics I wrote that will be revised and rewritten. Let's start over, shall we? ;)

Enjoy!

Lying down on the floor, doodling on some paper in her bedroom. Legs up and swinging around, immersed in her drawing. Her mother sat on her bed, watching her daughter in adoration. They heard the front door open, both looking up and at each other as it slammed shut.

"Isabella!" she heard her father call out.

The hairs and pores on her skin rose, sending a chill down her spine. He had been drinking again.

"Isabella! Octavia!" he screamed out their names.

She didn't want to answer him. She never knew what he was capable of when he was in such a state. She looked to her mother, frightened.

"It will be alright, amore mia. (my love)" her mother spoke her to calmly, not letting her own worry show to her daughter.

"Octavia Violette D'Egidio!" he called again.

"Sì, papà? (Yes, papa?)" she finally answered, making her way to the stairs. She sat closer to the top, watching him.

"Get your ass down here, ora! (now!)" he order her upon her appearance.

She got up immediately, but hesitantly made her way down the wooden stairs, gripping on to the rail.

"Ciao, papà. (Hello, papa) Dinner is ready for you." she said as she walked to the kitchen, hoping to avoid being scolded.

He grabbed her face in his hands, "Where is your mother?" he asked her, alcohol heavy on his breath.

"She is resting, papà." she said through her squished face.

"Emilio, do not hurt my daughter." her mother suddenly said sternly through her thick Italian accent.

He turned his attention to her mother, "Si cagna! (You bitch!) You've been spreading lies about me!"

"What are you speaking of? I have not." she replied, trying not to show fear toward him.

"You have been telling people that I am not a good husband!" he yelled, walking toward her.

She backed away, back to the second floor, "Emilio, I would not say such a thing..."

He made his way up the stairs, eyes never leaving his wife as she continued backing away, "People have spoken, Isabella. People have talked about how I drink too much at home, and I beat you and Octavia."

"I have not said a word, Emilio. That is our privacy." she said, trying to keep him calm as she was now in the bedroom.

"Non mentirmi! (Do not lie to me!)" he yelled, rushing forward to her.

She tried to close the door, but the force he put into it knocked the door open, hitting her in the face and on to the floor.

Octavia rushed upstairs, clutching a small painting of her and her mother and watched in horror as her father repeatedly punched Isabella in her face. "No! Papà, stop! Per favore! Papà, no!" she begged of him, but her words were unheard.
(No! Papa, stop! Please! Papa, no!)

Octavia stood in place, shaking as he saw the movement of her mother slowly die down; but her father didn't stop.

Emilio finally stopped and got up, looking to his daughter. She looked at her mother lying still on the floor, blood spattered all over, on her clothes and on her father. She was dead...she must have been. Her face was unrecognizable, not the beautiful woman she was looking at only mere moments ago.

Octavia wasted no time in rushing down the stairs and out the door, her father calling after her. She could feel her heart beating in her ear, but she had to get away. The cool air that the night brought hadn't even penetrated her from the adrenaline rushing through her body. Her feet carried her as far as she could go, into a forest. Where exactly she was going, she had no idea, but she had to get away from the man. Her running picked up pace whenever the sound of her father calling out her name echoed through the forest. She continued running, almost running into a group of redcoats, but luckily ducked into some nearby bushes.

Her adrenaline began dying down and she was beginning to feel the cool air that the night brought. She was grateful that it was still summer. She couldn't have survived otherwise. Clutching on to her picture still, she managed to climb up into a tree to stay safe from any monsters that might lurk her way. She used the moon's light to look at the picture of her and her mother on the ship coming from Italy when she was younger, but all she could see was the image of her mother lying dead on the floor, covered in her own blood. She covered her mouth to silence her whimpers as she cried.

She now carried the guilt of telling her friend of what her father often did. Something she told her friend in secrecy and swore her to not tell a soul. Her friend betrayed her trust and now, her mother was dead because of it. What had her friend said, exactly? She must have twisted the story enough that her father thought her mother had spoken of his acts behind closed doors. All she wanted were ears to listen to what she couldn't tell anyone else. She would never trust a soul again, not after such betrayal.

When she woke, the pain of hunger struck her. She needed food, but there was nowhere that she could get any from. Perhaps there was no food within miles. She didn't know how to hunt. Maybe there were fruit in trees, but walking around with her head in the sky wouldn't be the greatest of ideas with soldiers walking amongst the Frontier.

A group of redcoats were marching toward her. She watched intently, noticing that the last in line, beating a drum, would be the best option if she was going to try and get some supplies. She would be killed if she got caught, but she could no longer live in fear. She had to take her chances. She left the picture in the tree, climbing down after the soldiers went by.

She scanned the area, picking up a flattened rock, and another not so much before climbing back up in the tree. She began scraping the two together, hoping to fashion something sharp enough to snag the bag off of the redcoat when they passed by again. She was very grateful for survival lessons with her mother. She never really thought that she'd ever need to use anything she learnt, but fate had clearly proven her wrong.

A few hours later, the redcoats made their way back around. She'd finished sharpening her rock not too long ago and she was glad that she didn't have to wait for very long either. She climbed down the tree, leaving the picture in the tree once more and hid amongst the nearby bushes, watching as they walked past her. She quietly climbed out of the bushes and followed the last in line as carefully as she could, slowly etching away at the strap attached to the bag.

She was amazed that he didn't notice, but couldn't be more grateful that he and the other soldiers' movements and the beats of his drum drowned out any sounds she was making. It wasn't a thick strap, so it hadn't taken much to cut. The problem was continuing to follow behind him, trying to get it from around his body. She contiued to slowly pull, hoping that he didn't feel anything and sure enough, the strap finally let loose.

She dashed back to the bush to hide, tying the strap of the bag back together and threw it over her shoulder. She climbed back up the tree and opened the back to see what may be useful to her. Inside contained three apples, a small knife, a few coin and some bandaging. She wasted no time in cutting out a quarter of the apple and eating it rather quickly. As much as she wanted more, she'd have to ration her supplies. She stuffed her picture and makeshift weapon in the bag and climbed down from the tree. She couldn't stay there forever and had to find some sort of official sanctuary.

Well, there you have it. Not much will change, but the writing has definitely improved. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. See you in the next!

≺) [ṃȧƌạṁeḤuɲʈǝrr]